Kill II This Say What?

Head of school, hear this prayer,
do you listen?, do you care?,
I are bullied among the boys,
do you really loathe this small boy?
My legs have been taped

Is my life cut and dried?
Trapped out by tape, choice denied?
Are we boys that slowly take?
Their inherent faults, I have no hope
My legs have been taped

Like a toy without a wind
Like a lead without a dog
Like a Devon without a cod
My legs have been taped

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The Chicken Man
(aka The Wicker Man)

Swallow your corn, this farm yard forsaken
Follow the hens, to this grass free range haven

With bended beak, you worship the poultry
To pleasure your farmer, your sad graven egg piles

Cluck all night
Sacrifice your life
Poultrify this land
The ritual run
The Chicken man

Born into your coops, in bales you baptise them
To buy your feed, you sell your own children

Temptation infests, with crushing embrace
The sacred cows, forbidden to taste

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You will buy my records.....oh yes......

Morning Sickness
(aka Mourning Sickness)

Salad sandwiches swirling at my throat, bile juice floats, my hormones overdose
With a child comes a split reality, hating my waiting for labour brutality
Symptoms show, feeling comatose, lost control, still my baby grows
Abandon hope, all sex is starved by stretch marked skin,
my message has carrots - my message has carrots

Health of mind, like sparkling gold – bathroom bound but that I'm told
Fertile breed - Spewing like a superbulimic
Release the torment, unleash my pains, mixed emotions like disgust of his semen
Regurgitate my dinner of grain, puke and wallow in last night’s cocktail
Digested bacon now finding its release, my stomach loses yet one more piece
Internal tissues now twisting into form, dragging me through hell,
like a ragdoll into thorns - ragdoll into thorns

I eject It All - I eject It All - I eject It All - I eject It - I eject It - I eject It All
Overwhelming, raging man-loathing, sick to my guts like a stuffed leech
Swallow then vomit, swallow then spew, it's my fuschia toilet bowl, my favourite view

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The Way You're Not Fresh
(aka The Way of All Flesh)

Stop watching adverts - this is all you need to learn
Just read these words - just read these words

Why plan for the future, when your smell is vast?
Why dance to the music, the stink won’t be long.
Why do anything? Why do anything?

We struggle in vain - through varying shades of pain
The truth will hurt - the b.o. stains your shirt

Why are you all trying? What will your spraying achieve?
And the washing, scrubbing and soap and the showers, your effort just goes

When you do it will come to pass
The way to get fresh - it can’t last.
The way you’re not fresh - the way you’re not fresh

Each will see but the change is temporary
The cruel facts of odour - the facts of life

Lifelong sweatdrive till we're all paralysed
Worn down, worn out - till the smell shuts our eyes

Why plan for the future, when your smell is vast?
Why dance to the music, the stink won’t be long.
Why do anything? Why do anything?

The same smelless conclusion
The same inevitable smelless conclusion

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